The Clockwork Toymaker and Other Fables

Daniel Merton, Superhero

Daniel Merton was lonely. He was eight years old and he lived with his mother in a little blue cottage down a winding lane on the outskirts of the town of Appledore.

He was a terrific kid. He was bright. And he was funny. With tee-shirts that were always a little too small and jeans that were just a little too long. His shoe laces were often untied as he ran around, tripping over corn rows in the fields beside his house.

But Daniel was lonely. No matter how he tried, no-one seemed to notice him. The other children ignored him, even when he joked, or zoomed through corridors pretending to fly, jumping and singing at the top of his lungs. "They think I'm weird," he thought.

Daniel wanted friends. He wanted to fit in. But he didn't know how. It made him sad.

Sometimes he would get so sad that he didn't feel like running or singing. He would sit alone in the field beside his house, staring at the sky and wondering how it felt to be special. As the clouds rolled by, he'd imagine he was flying, soaring up above the world, like Superman or The Human Torch.

Daniel had inherited a comic book collection from his father. A box full of treasure with plastic covers and the magic smell of inky paper. He took great care of it, always careful to put the books back in their covers, the way his dad had taught him. He loved the colours and the panels. And he loved the stories: the secret identities and assorted powers, the super villains and even the romance. But especially the powers. This was the world he dreamed of: invisibility and flight, super strength and x-ray vision, telepathy and telekinesis. It was the world he imagined as he sat staring sadly at the sky.

"If I could only be a Superhero," he thought. "Then people would notice me. Then I'd be special. I could save the world."

The thought had stayed with him. It haunted him on those lonely days when he sat alone in the field. It inspired him as he ran through the corn, arms outstretched and weaving, a discarded baby blanket tied around his neck, streaming behind him like a cape. But it was only playing.

At least until July.

It was Saturday and the sun was shining. Daniel was playing, beating up imaginary villains and rescuing imaginary people from the clutches of imaginary robots. When suddenly he stopped. "Why do I keep pretending," he thought. "It's dumb. Why do I keep pretending, when I want to be a real superhero?"

So, Daniel stopped pretending. He made a resolution. "I'm going to do it," he thought, "No more playing for me. I'm going to discover my super power."

It was easier said than done. For one thing, Daniel didn't really know what his power might be. He had a hunch it might be flying. He loved the thought of swooping and soaring high above people's heads. You could see so much from the sky, diving down to save the day at the first sign of trouble. And he'd practiced flying so often, imagining himself in the air and running around with his arms swept out in front of him. But how did you actually do it?

He spent a few days just contemplating, sitting quietly watching birds and clouds. He knew that super flying was different than this. The rules, the mechanics, didn't apply.

"Super flying isn't about rules," Daniel thought, "It's about believing."

And Daniel really did believe. He knew he did. He was going to believe himself off the ground.

Daniel stood in the middle of the field, facing out across the corn rows, an empty trail before him. He closed his eyes. "Fly," he thought. "Fly."

He started running.

"Fly," he thought, "Fly."

Faster.

"Fly."

Daniel jumped. His feet left the ground. He felt the breeze on his cheeks. The air wrapped around him.